Archive of Our Own

With a yawn and a number of vaguely concerning popping noises, Liya al-Amundi stretched, rising from her cot. Her knee was giving her trouble again today, exacerbated by the rigorous training exercise she had put her troop through the day before. Since failing on Tarkir, she had remained on her home world of Melenas, unsure of herself. At times, she thought she might be imprisoning herself out of penance.

It had taken some time for her to accept what fate dealt her, reaching a point where she felt capable of doing more than crying and blaming herself. Once more, she assumed the guise of one of the Knights of the Hallowed Order, a younger initiate named Shaafia with some ability to manipulate sound. Her long days training with the warriors of the Abzan paid off, as her relative power against the current state of the Knights quickly led to promotion. Liya wondered how the young lady would deal with the aftermath, but her hatred of the Order dismissed those concerns more often than not. Maybe she could change them from the inside? Not likely if leadership persisted in the manner they had since Liya’s time.

It was a fine line to walk, showing enough of her skill in order to improve, while keeping to herself enough that the other Knights would struggle to learn her tactics, in case she needed to deal with them. Her abilities had improved somewhat in the last five years spent here, but she knew she’d never be as skilled as the Abzan elites, or even the khan, Daghatar. Another price to be paid for her secrets.

She sighed, conscious of time passing while she sat in idle thought. The most eager of her trainees would be arriving at the training grounds by now. She took one last look out of her barracks-room window before getting dressed and prepared; it wasn’t visible from this angle, but just behind the battlements to the west the gallows still stood, a grim reminder of a past left behind.

Liya ordered her troop to halt.

“Mansoor! Up!”

The Knight she had called out jumped, startled. He had a reputation for taking instruction as lackadaisically as possible and getting away with it,something with which Liya took personal umbrage. Her upbringing focused on always putting your best foot forward; that way, no one could fault you on that part of yourself.

“Yes?” He asked, a sly smile already blooming across his face. Liya could almost hear him thinking about how to talk his way out of this trouble. She grimaced and reached for the thin leather whip at her waist. Another part of the Knights she hated, but it proved effective on the rare occasions of its use during her tenure. Mansoor’s face quickly assumed a more appropriate one as the threat was noticed. She pointed at the ground next to her.

“Assume stance three.”

He drew his practice blade and dropped into the form, designed to keep an enemy from advancing while maintaining your own strength and awareness. Briefly, Liya was lost in a memory of Chaka, the Abzan scout she had gotten killed, feet and legs in identical positions as she held back a Sultai naga. The rain pelting, shallow cuts pulsing pain with every heartbeat… She shook her head to pull herself back to the moment.

“What’s wrong with your stance, Mansoor?” she asked.

He quickly glanced down, not breaking form. “Nothing, Knight-Commander. It’s just as you taught it.”

“Really? So if I did this…”

And with a practiced speed, Liya drew her own lacquered wood blade and took a swipe towards the recruit, that with a real sword would have gone for the throat. To Mansoor’s credit, he reacted in exactly the correct way; parrying the blow and pivoting to Liya’s off-hand side. Unfortunately, his misplaced footing provided just the leverage Liya needed. Using his own momentum, she dropped a shoulder into his chest that even through armour drove breath from lungs, and he collapsed backwards gasping for air. With a quick twist of her wrist, Liya lifted Mansoor’s chin with the point of her blade. That had been one of Suke’s favourite tricks, and it had taken her an embarrassingly long time to notice and learn.

“I’ll ask again. What’s wrong with your stance?” Liya asked, trying not to sound authoritative.

“Ow… My footing was wrong?” Mansoor winced.

“Your footing was wrong, correct. Come on.” Liya moved her sword away and held out her hand to help the recruit up. “Now, we’ll swap positions. You come at me the same way, and I’ll show you how it’s supposed to go.”

She assumed the defensive stance she had been teaching, careful with the placement of her own feet. She had been caught out enough times in another life.

As Mansoor attacked, attempting to copy Liya’s experienced strike, she could see that there was more to work on with him than just his defensive stance. Arrogance caused more gaps in his swordwork than an archer’s tower.

The motions came easily to her: parry, turn, hold for the counterswing. Exactly as practiced. Shifting her weight, Liya ducked into the swing, her pivoting momentum carrying her own blade across the back of Mansoor’s knees. A disabling slash in real combat; in training it resulted in nothing more than an admittedly painful welt and perhaps some damage to the ego.

The assembled audience of soldiers remained in hushed discipline, but Liya sensed an approving air from them. It annoyed her a little, knowing that even after nearly five years, she was still being judged and appraised due to her youth. Or, Shaafia’s youth, at least.

Once more, she assisted Mansoor to his feet. She spoke in a low voice, for his hearing alone. “If you put half as much effort into your practice as you do your womanising, you could easily be the best of this entire squad. What a waste.”

He shot her a dark look as he was restored to an upright position, but Liya turned to address the others.

“This is why we train: to improve oneself.”

The only warning was a sharp intake of breath from one of the onlooking Knights. Instinctively, she dropped to her left, rolling with the momentum and rising to face Mansoor, his face twisted in a frustrated grimace as the shards of ice intended to pierce her armour flew off into the distance. Before she could respond, he roared in animalistic anger and charged, catching her off guard and tackling her to the ground. She barely managed to get her arms up in time to defend against the furious punches.

Liya considered for a fraction of a moment that the situation might still provide some advantage, if only she could figure out how to capitalise on it. Mansoor was fighting from a place of anger, frustration and anger guiding his blows, so there was little in the way of refined technique.

Suddenly, a scream rang out from the crowd, distracting Mansoor momentarily and allowing Liya to twist her body from under her assailant, gripping with her legs to invert their positions: Liya above Mansoor, twisting her hips to keep him from attempting the same trick.

Then she saw what caused that scream and the growing panic amongst the onlookers; the sun was turning black, despite being barely past its midday height. Numerous horrors ran through her mind in an instant: the dragon returned, her spectral nature once more betraying her and condemning her host and those around to an unjust death. Maybe Erebos, Theros’s god of the dead, had found a way to cross the ocean of stars as she could, come to collect on their deal left unfulfilled. Or even the last moments of a dream, granted by her dying mind as she swung from the gallows in an instant of frozen time.

From the depths of her memory, a voice came unbidden: “I can only offer this and the visions I saw: a dragon, furious and blinding; the noon day sun devoured by night; the Seeker of Power; and you bowing in service.” – the words of a shaman from Tarkir, who had foretold Liya’s journey through the veil of cryptic prophecy. She had to leave; that was the only thing she could reason from this, given how relevant to the prophecy it seemed.

But to where? And what of Shaafia’s fate after she was gone? Part of her feared for the young woman’s safety, fending for herself in a situation created inadvertently by Liya’s nature: an apparent former prodigy, a five year gap in her memory with no explanation, and the target of unearned animosity from her peers. Then there was the part of Liya that remembered. The part that remembered being pulled from home and child under false pretence while a village watched. The part that remembered solitary isolation in suffering. The part that remembered the hopeless march towards inevitability.

And all of a sudden, Liya found herself not caring. Shaafia may not have asked for what might happen next, but she brought it on herself by joining the Knights in the first place, and would get what she deserved. Focusing her sight on the darkened sun, Liya forced herself to look beyond the sky, as the familiar feeling of drifting away from the world grew. She was faintly aware of the sound of crying behind her as she vanished, once more adrift in her starry ocean.

With an endless void of starlight around, she had no idea where to go. Theros and Tarkir would be easy enough, or even that unknown place she had found herself in at the very beginning, but there was a feeling that none of those were where she was needed. Then: a flash on the periphery. Liya turned, (Or did I make the stars turn around me? she wondered), facing the momentarily-flaring star.

That must be it. Nothing is a coincidence anymore, she thought to herself, and felt a push in that direction.

The dawning sun silently heralded Liya’s arrival as she manifested. She looked around, taking in the landscape. An ancient forest encompassed her vision, tree roots twisting and choking the terrain in a manner that suggested hunger. Liya was awestruck; never before had she seen so many trees in such a relatively small area, and certainly not ones so vital. The ironbark tree marking her gravesite on Melenas was hardy, but in comparison, the trees on this world were possessing an excess of colour. The kin-trees of Tarkir exuded a stronger feel of life, but were kept single from one another.

Liya extended her senses in search of a compatible host body. To her shock, she felt three distinct energies; one to her north, in the direction of the forest, and two close together to the southeast. She found herself strangely delighted in having a choice here.

"...wow."

Liya turned toward the sound. Hiding behind a tree, peeking out in juvenile curiosity, was a boy around 7 years old. Curious herself and more than a little surprised, she answered. “Hello?” Her voice echoed in a familiarly ethereal way, though it had been some time since she had heard her own, rather than the borrowed voice of another. The boy shrunk back into the tree, shy.

"...hi."

“Can you see me?” Liya asked in awe. The boy nodded, and, after a silent moment, turned and ran deeper into the woods.

“Hey, wait!” Liya called after him, willing her form to float after the boy. He darted around vast trunks and over gnarled roots with youthful agility, and, despite the advantage of Liya’s ability to float over terrain, he maintained the lead. She could have caught up utilising her intangibility, but that took concentration and was the only time she experienced sensation in her spectral form: a horrible, crushing chill she loathed. Some distance ahead, the boy had stopped, and stood facing Liya as she approached. He appeared to be crying.

“Are you alright?” Liya asked, feeling an almost motherly concern.

“I just… wanted someone to help me. To find me. I was so scared.”

"I can help you, it's okay."

"No. You can't."

A beam of dawning sunlight broke through the canopy of close-knit trees, bathing the boy in light as he disappeared.

"It's already too late." His voice echoed slightly, and he was gone.

Liya looked at the spot where the boy had been standing. What she assumed were overgrown roots or rocks in the shade of the forest were revealed to be bones. They looked far too small, too fragile, and had been picked clean by a number of predators and scavengers. It didn’t take much for Liya to surmise what had happened, and it wasn’t a scene upon which she wanted her imagination to dwell. Despite not knowing the child, she felt a strong sense of loss.

The telltale tug from the core of her being intruded on sorrow, trying to bring her home against her will. She had spent too long with the child’s spirit, and the chase through the woods had confused her sense of direction. She reached out again and was dismayed to find the three sources of energy she had felt earlier reduced to one, confirming her fears. By her estimate, she had moved closer to one in her inattentive chase; enough time to reach it before this excursion was invalidated. She could always return, but her connection weakened with each attempt, and she, perhaps selfishly, wanted to make the most of the magic she would share with her host.

Her saving grace was that the energy didn’t seem to be moving; if she flew in a straight line, she would make it, though she no longer had the luxury of being able to avoid passing through obstacles.

Wincing every time she emerged from a gnarled trunk or piece of stone, she reached out, extending her essence past her non-physical self. Just as the telltale sensation of returning home reached its irresistible peak, she broke through the tree line into a small clearing and her vision went dark.

For a moment, Liya thought she had failed, until sensations of a living body returned: the weight of gravity on her flesh, the pulse of blood through her veins, the smell of rich earth in her nose, and the taste of blood-soaked dirt on her tongue.

She opened her eyes, or one of them, at least, to find she was face down on the forest floor. She stood up, spitting dirt from her mouth and brushing a clump of earth clinging to the side of her face. It resisted her brushing in an odd way, even as she made more vigorous attempts. Getting frustrated, she finally resorted to clawing at it, aiming to rip the dirt off. She met with a sharp pain unlike any she had previously experienced, and let out a surprised yelp.

Liya paused. That was much lower than she expected. She tested it again.

“Hello?”

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Something was wrong. Her lips felt dry and cracked, but all around her mouth felt like grabbing a broom from the wrong end. She slid one hand down from her mouth, finding more hair and a hard lump in her throat. Extending an arm in front of her eyes only confirmed what she had felt: rough, dirt covered hands, larger than she had seen before, and still more hair.

A sinking feeling washed over her like a wave as she looked down. The flat chest that greeted her wasn’t anything particularly novel, but her view of one certainly had. And below that, …that was new. Liya reached out with a tentative, nervous hand and gripped.

“Mistake! Pain!” She could barely think as waves of nauseating agony threatened to topple her to the ground once more. While nowhere near the most pain she had ever felt, it was certainly an incentive not to try again. After what felt like hours, it finally subsided and Liya stood upright again, breathing deeply. “So,” she thought “I’m a man now. This will be… awkward. But first, clothing?”

She looked around, hands in front but not touching to provide a modicum of dignity. Seeing her, “or his?”, face could wait. Not far from where he… “she? Who am I?” had lain was a rough cloth sack, partially hidden inside a hollow log. She moved towards it, faltering in her first steps from the unexpected shift in balance. Even the basic act of walking was going to take some effort, let alone using magic. Liya eventually grabbed the sack and opened it, revealing a set of clothes and a pair of simple boots. Trying to get fully dressed without looking at herself was a challenge, but at last she managed.

Liya looked around for any signs of life. Aside from the chirping chorus of morning birds, she seemed to be alone. Carefully calling upon the familiar power within, Liya summoned her spectral mirror. Brief self-exploration had prepared her expectations, but actually seeing it was something else. What she had thought dirt was in fact a thick, unruly beard. Her eyes, an icy blue-grey, told of a sadness beyond her host’s years. Sun-hardened skin, almost like tanned leather in places, revealed the efforts of a life of hard work. Liya guessed her host to be between 40-50 years old, though she accepted she could be wildly mistaken. There was a bit of a twist in her hip from how the host had been lying that was difficult not to attribute to the aging of bones.

With a grimace, Liya dismissed the mirror. She had found a host, and dealt with the adjustment. So, now what? She was in the middle of a thick forest, in seemingly the middle of nowhere, with no idea of where anything was on this world. She decided to take a chance and move in the direction she had previously sensed the two alternate sources of life energy. “If I can work out my directions after chasing that child’s spectre, of course,” she thought derisively.

She began to make her way back to where the body had lain, overcorrecting her upset balance. In a way, she felt like Myka again, barely begun to walk upright. In life, she never had the most… prodigious chest, unlike a couple of other girls her age she had known, but it had been ample enough to attract at least one man’s attention, and certainly Anwar never complained during his feedings. Even in her afterlife, Chaka and Shaafia’s bodies had their own concerns, but a lack of… weight was not one of them. Liya had never been a fan of drink, but this had a similar effect, making her feel about to topple with every step.

Liya paused, attempting to recall how her host's body laid and how it corresponded to the sensations of energy she had experienced. Realistically, each direction was as good as another, but with no idea about the safety of this world she felt more comfortable finding other people first and foremost. Once more she regretted the chase eating up so much of her spare time as a free spirit. She couldn’t even temporarily vacate this body and sense again without risking being pulled from the world. Guessing at a direction, she began walking, unsteady at first but gradually adjusting.

By the time Liya spotted the town in the distance, dawn had come and gone, but to call the time truly morning was quite charitable. The sun shone with dim light despite the clear sky, which she attributed to how low it still was on the horizon.

By her reckoning, she still had some distance to cover, but would make it before much of the day had passed. She could practically smell food awaiting her, surely a sign of her host’s hunger, because the sheer distance made it impossible for anything but her imagination. Roasted meats, baked bread, and other such culinary teases wafted past, spurring her onwards. As she continued, open grasslands gave way to farmsteads and pastures, and the small game trails she had been following flattened by use into well-worn cart tracks. Surrounding the town, a solid stone wall restricted incoming carts to a single gate, presumably for inspection.

A line of four carts already waited, guards overseeing their entrance. Liya guessed these were farmers from the surrounding lands, looking to trade their stock for supplies. Reasoning that she wasn’t a farmer with goods to trade, she strode towards the front of the line to enter the village proper. One of the guards looked up from poking at a sheaf of wheat, noticing Liya’s approach, and grabbed a pike resting against the wall.

“Oi, you! Halt!” he cried, alerting the others and aiming the head of the pike at Liya. She stopped in her tracks, raising her hands up in a non-threatening show. A tense moment passed before another voice called out from the parapet above the gate.

“What are you doing, you idiot!?”

Determined steps followed the voice down what Liya presumed was a staircase behind the wall, as an older guard emerged from around the gate. He looked tired, but Liya couldn’t tell if it was because of his age. The new arrival looked at Liya.

“Sorry about that Claude, Johann missed the morning watch briefing where we said you could be back today. Something about his “sick uncle,” like people don’t know about him and Madeline.” He gave the younger guard, presumably Johann, a thump around the back of his head, causing the plain helmet to slide over his eyes. “Anyway, you’re clear to enter. Didn’t catch it again, eh?”

Liya was mystified, but the guard seemed to be expecting a response. “Well, you know how it is out there.” she answered, still amazed by how deep her borrowed voice was.

“Ha, true enough.”

Liya made to walk through, but realised she had no idea where to go or what to do. She had been working on a trick over the many nights she spent aware while her hosts slept, though this would be the first time she’d ever attempted it outside of practice. Her limited remaining time had her concerned, but she saw few options; “Claude” was apparently a known person within the village, so it would be highly suspicious for him to suddenly lose his memories.

As though testing the temperature of water before going for a swim, Liya forced her real, spectral arm out of Claude’s body for a moment, interrupting the totality of her control and causing the body to fumble in its steps and start to crumple towards the ground. At least, that was the intent. The older guard who had been talking to her had, with lightning reflexes, caught Liya and steadied her before impact. To his credit, Johann had moved as if to make the same manoeuvre, just without the same speed or grace as his superior.

“Whoa, you alright mate?” The guard asked, concerned.

“I’m fine. Just… more tired than I thought.” Liya answered, her borrowed tongue momentarily thick from the interruption.

“Look, I’m just about off watch anyway, how about I make sure you get home alright?”

“Sure, thanks. Be good to rest properly anyway.”

The guard barked a soft, self-deprecating laugh which devolved into a yawn halfway through. “Yeah, you’re telling me. Anyway, Cynthia would have my nuts in a vice if I let anything happen to you when you’re returning from a hunt, especially right at the gate.”

“Who?” Liya asked as a reflex, confused. Only too late did she realise the mistake. Thankfully, the guard appeared to have missed the question.

“Look,” he said, slowing his pace, expecting Liya to match it. “Just between you and me, why’d you marry a ball-buster like that? She’s gotta be a real demon in bed, right?” The guard asked, his voice lowering conspiratorially.

Liya was appalled. “Is this what men are like? So brazen about… those things?” She knew all too well about what occurred between men and women when it was appropriate, but she had been raised where that… business was strictly not discussed among decent folks. She briefly wondered in horror if Sadi, her husband in life, was the same way; laughing crudely with his friends over drink of their… activities in the marital bed, and her efforts to conceive. But no, she dismissed those thoughts; Sadi was a faithful and honest man. He would never debase himself or her like that.

Liya realised she had been quiet for longer than the guard had been expecting. “Oh you know, we get along great,” she stated, feminine pride taking over, trying to defend a sister-in-arms’ honour. “And it’s none of your business anyway. She’s been nothing other than an ideal partner.”

The guard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Liya wondered if she had taken it too far, but instead, he laughed.

“I’ll bet mate, I’ll bet! Say no more, eh?” He chortled, with a knowing wink. Liya gave an awkward, half-hearted laugh back as she reanalysed her words. Truly, men were strange creatures, and she wondered if she might never understand them. The guard continued on with a supportive arm around Liya, ensuring her safe transit; unnecessary, but he didn’t need to know.

Eventually, they came to a modest house standing alone from others nearby. It looked weathered and worn, but in sturdy defiance of time. Square tiles layered atop the roof, which Liya recognised as a design to retain heat against cold weather. Myka’s father had been a builder, and while there wasn’t much call for it on Theros, the idea had been theorised in his books Liya had challenged herself to read.

The guard reached up to a metal knocker and rapped twice, sound echoing within. The imposing, dark wooden door swung open after a moment, and Liya was shocked by the appearance of what could only be described as the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her pale skin was soft with not a blemish in sight, in contrast to smooth black hair falling behind to the middle of her back. The woman wore a black lace dress with confidence, in a tight bodice that clung in a way Liya internally disapproved of, but admired nonetheless. Nature had certainly been generous with her curves as well, and Liya found herself jealously appraising her own appearance, from memory, in self-conscious comparison.

“Well it’s about time! I was starting to think…” the woman started before halting abruptly. In an instant, her whole demeanour changed. She leaned up against the door frame seductively, but as if that was an accidental happenstance. The woman continued in a softer tone.

“Oh, Heinrich. Whatever do I owe the pleasure to? I wasn’t expecting extra company.“ She flashed a glare at Liya before resuming a smile that seemed too wide by Liya’s reckoning. She suppressed an involuntary shudder.

The guard, Heinrich apparently, scratched at the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “Good to see you Cyn. Don’t worry, I’m not staying. Heh, got my own family to thrill with all the excruciating details of another uneventful night watch. Claude was just making sure I got home a’right and in a timely manner. Bit tired, you see.” He punctuated his testimony with an exaggerated yawn that was only partially faked.

Cynthia’s mouth twisted at the abbreviation of her name, but said nothing and flashed another quick smile, not letting it touch her eyes. Liya wasn’t sure Heinrich had noticed.

“Ah. Well, isn’t that lovely. Anyway, I shan’t keep you from that charming family of yours. We simply must catch up over tea sometime.” Cynthia simpered, with an unspoken air of dismissal.

“B-but please, do give them our regards.” Liya cut in, sliding into the doorway beside Cynthia, and easing an arm that felt too large by half around Cynthia’s comparatively delicate shoulder. The difference in scale from what Liya was used to made itself quickly apparent as she felt the warmth of flesh beneath her borrowed hand. A brief thought of wonder flashed through Liya’s mind. “Are women always this soft? And… that smell…” But she dismissed it as evidence that she was still adjusting to her host’s body.

“Right, right. See you later, eh?” Heinrich waved as he turned away. He didn’t get far before spinning back around. “Oh, that reminds me; Derrich is still eager to apprentice with you on a hunt some time. Thought he’d take up the watch like his old man, but what can you do?”

Cynthia scoffed to herself. “He’s a little young, isn’t he?”

Heinrich shook his head. “He’s nineteen. I know, where does the time go? Anyway, let me know if you’re able to bring him one time, and I’ll pass it on.” With another wave, he hurried off.

“He knows I hate that name; I think he just does it to antagonise me. I suppose you’re hungry? Fine. Get in and wash up, and I’ll get some food on.” Cynthia shrugged out of Liya’s embrace and entered the home without waiting for her to follow.

The interior of the house matched the exterior, dark woods accenting plain wooden walls. Many of the decorative effects lent credence to Claude’s position as a competent hunter; skins and mounted trophies covered floors and walls, and carved bone pieces sat on small tables. Liya followed Cynthia into what appeared to be a kitchen. A stone oven sat in a corner, chimney leading to the floor above, and thence presumably the roof. String bags of assorted vegetables hung within reach from hooks in the ceiling, and a small staircase descended to what Liya guessed to be a cellar. A rough sink stood next to a small pump, and it was towards here Cynthia headed first, rolling up the sleeves of her dress. Resigned to confronting her host’s body once more, Liya approached the sink and pulled the shirt over her head, cringing internally with every body hair she felt tugged.

“What do you think you’re DOING!?” Cynthia screeched suddenly.

Liya stopped, confused. “Washing up, like you said?”

Cynthia started slapping and punching Liya’s arm, to surprisingly little effect. “Use the washroom, you pig! This is for food, and you’re filthy!”

Liya backed up a step, shirt still in hand, and tried to save face to preserve her cover. “Just a joke, you know?”

Cynthia responded with a glare. “Well, I don’t think it was very funny.” Her withering stare softened a little as she continued. “Honestly, you’re lucky you’re cute, because you’ve got nothing else going for you. Nothing but dust in the attic, aren’t you?”

"Yes... uh, darling."

“…Ooh, I like that. But seriously, you reek. Away with you!” Cynthia’s glare was now a cheeky smirk. Liya turned, confounded by the quick change in attitude, and walked to the door. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her rear end. With a yelp, she spun around only to see Cynthia swiftly withdrawing her hand and turning to face the kitchen once more, acting innocent. During her stint as Shaafia, she had had to listen to a number of complaints about Mansoor pinching the bottoms of other female Knights in the cohort, but she never imagined experiencing it herself, let alone from another woman! Even disregarding the fact that she was a man at the moment, that just wasn’t done! It was… impolite! She stared at Cynthia in shock for a moment as the other woman started humming happily to herself while pumping water into the sink, before turning back to the hallway once more, head shaking in disbelief.

After checking several doors to no avail, Liya eventually came across what seemed to be the washroom. A smaller pump stood next to a matching metal and stone pedestal with a ceramic jug upon it. A hollow in the pedestal held coals and a small amount of firewood; smoke fed from the fire into a thin chimney behind the pedestal. A leather sack hung alongside. Nearby, a bowl sat on a table, alongside some folded cloth and tools Liya didn’t recognise. Above that, on the wall, hung a thin plate of metal polished to a mirror sheen. The corner of the room was filled by a wooden tub, large enough for a person to sit in, and a small pair of bellows nearby waited to assist with firemaking. On closer inspection, Liya spotted a blade among the tools. It was similar, though of different design, to one she had seen Sadi use long ago during a period of time he decided that he no longer wanted a beard. Just the sight of it alongside the memory of her former husband reminded Liya of her current situation, and awareness renewed the maddening itch of hair on her face.

Liya pumped water into the jug and lit the small fire using a flint tool she found hanging from the side, as if intended for that very purpose. As the jug heated, she leaned on the table and stared into the mirror. The imperfections made it a poorer quality than the spectral one she could conjure, but it felt appropriate to see herself as others did. Once more she saw the grey eyes, lined by the weathering of a hard life in the sun, and the odd angle of her host’s nose; he had clearly been in a fight in the past and probably not come out on top, or possibly more than once. A long scar arced across his chest, healed long ago but still wicked to behold. Liya was surprised he had survived whatever caused it.

Despair washed over her and she collapsed against the wall, hands resting on either side of the mirror. What was she even doing here? Playing husband to a woman with extreme temperaments and mood swings, in a land she knew nothing about, based on the supposedly prophetic ravings of an uncivilised barbarian; she drifted from world to world with no purpose. Would she ever finally die for real, and go to her earned rest, for good or ill, or was she cursed to see the sun dawn every day from now until the fire of it burned out for good?

Growing pains in her hands and arms interrupted these thoughts. She withdrew them from the wall with haste, to find that those areas of skin resting on the mirror had started to burn and blister. Liya stared at her reddened palms quizzically, thinking she must have burned them on the fire and simply not noticed until pressure brought the pain to the surface. She moved the back of her hand close to the mirror, just to rule out the possibility, but felt no warmth. Liya glanced at the small fire accusingly, seeing the jug had steam rising from it. Cautiously, she tapped the jug’s handle a couple of times, but, however it had been crafted, the handle retained no heat. Opening the leather sack, Liya found it full of sand. She sprinkled the sand into the flame, not quite quenching it, but reducing it to a strength that would either burn itself out in short order or be easy to reignite for further use.

She stripped off her remaining clothing and poured the contents of the jug into the bowl. Using one of the cloths, she hastily rubbed the dirt off most of her body, eager to think about anything else but what she was touching and feeling being touched. She had to be careful around Cynthia; her previous experiences in the bodies of others had been mostly isolated ones. Of course, Myka had had her little friend… what was his name again…? Ah, right… Spiros, but no-one would believe anything she said as little more than a child’s fantasy. This was different, Cynthia was different. Without intending to, her thoughts drifted to picturing Cynthia’s body, which certainly had… an effect.

“No, go down!” Liya said to no-one but herself. She tried pressing firmly on… the appendage, but it refused to listen. Hastily, she pinned it between her thighs. The pain was certainly not as bad as she had inadvertently caused herself earlier in the day, but there was enough to tell her this wasn’t a move to rely on all the time. “How do men deal with this thing?” Liya noted the strangeness of that question coming out of the low, rough voice she now possessed. Eventually, she felt her heartbeat slow and the pressure… of it… release. She hated the feeling of everything in this body. She was too tall, too wide, took up too much space. She could practically feel every single misplaced hair on her face and body. So much hair everywhere! And the less said about… that… the better. It was like every sense in her body was tuned towards it, as if it were the sole purpose of her physical being.

Manically, an idea passed through Liya’s mind. Just cut all the hair off! If you’re here long enough, it’ll just grow back, and it’s only hair if not! Feel it, it has to go! Now! Do it now! She splashed water onto her face and grabbed the blade. Awkwardly, she positioned it using the mirror, disoriented by seeing the image backwards when trying to do what felt like a complicated maneuver. She might be a trained swordswoman, but this was different. She grabbed a handful of coarse hair, and stretched it out like wool to be shorn before swiping with the blade. The handful of hair fell limp as it came away in a rough patch. Liya continued until only that closest to her skin remained. She tried to remember how Sadi had done it; she had seen little reason to watch closely at the time, though now she wished for attention to those details. She rested the blade against her cheek, angling it to slide along. Success! The patch wasn’t as smooth as the skin she was used to feeling, but it was comparable to her recollection of Sadi's chin, lifetimes ago. A trickle of blood oozed from the path of the blade, which caused Liya to panic a little bit, thinking of irreparable damage. She had come too far to stop now, though, so she pressed on. She tried to focus on the blade and go easy with the next stroke.

A tingle went through her spine and along her arm to the blade. A shimmering purple glow covered the sharp edge. Startled, she moved too quickly, slicing a large gash below her jaw. Liya dropped the blade in pain and surprise. The edge caught part of the bowl, and, remarkably, it sheared clean as it fell, both the blade and the piece of bowl clattering to the table. She stared in wonder at the wooden slice. It could not have been a cleaner cut if she had crafted it herself. She picked up the razor and looked it over. The edge had crumbled, as if aged 100 years in an instant. Curious, she picked up another of the tools, this one a thin spike of metal, and focused on it. Once more, the tingle preceded the glow as she held it firm. She tried focusing again, and the reverse happened; the glow softened and vanished and the tingle retreated up her arm and down her spine. The spike remained unchanged otherwise. Experimentally, she poked it at a stone in the wall. Nothing. Once more she focused, and the spike glowed. She poked again, shocked as it went deep into the stone as easy as a hot knife through butter. Extracting it, she saw the glow had vanished and the spike appeared in the same brittle, aged state as the razor.

Still trying to work out exactly what happened, Liya focused on her hand. No tingle, no glow. Likewise with the cloth she had used to wash herself. She kept trying with anything she could touch. It appeared to only work when the item she had was something possibly useful as a slashing or piercing weapon. She stared at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror as she held cloth to jaw, staunching the blood flow. “So this is your power, huh? Now what?”

The reflection had no insight to offer, other than helping her decide that with only a portion of beard removed, she looked ridiculous. Glancing over the remaining tools with no luck, she eventually spotted a small chest in the corner behind the door. Amid the additional washcloths and jars of variously coloured ointments, she found a smaller, older face blade. It wasn’t as sharp as the other had been, but, in its current state, the smaller blade was superior to the magically crumbled one. Wincing with every small cut she felt inflicted through inexperience and a dull edge, Liya finished shaving for the first time.

Feeling comfortable enough with bleeding stopped and the job done best she could, Liya carefully put the smallclothes back on and left the washroom, turning further into the house. The smells of food from the kitchen were tantalizing and intensely distracting, but she couldn’t go out there while being basically naked. Luckily, the next door revealed the bedroom. A large, couple-sized bed dominated the room, and a chest of drawers stood opposite. Opposite, a bookshelf encompassed the entirety of one wall, with a comfortable chair set beside, inviting a potential reader to enjoy a moment in its embrace. Putting that aside for now, Liya rummaged in the chest of drawers, eventually finding clean clothes that would suit her now-male frame. She dressed quickly as her stomach protested the delay, and returned to the kitchen.

A variety of delicious aromas greeted Liya as she moved to the small table. Cynthia had some plates in hand and was in the process of placing them. She spoke as she worked.

“About time; sit down it’s almost ready, and…” She cut off abruptly as she turned her head to look at Liya, and practically dropped the plates onto the table. Luckily, the distance wasn’t so great as to do damage.

“What did you do? Your beard… and all that blood!” She rushed over and grabbed Liya by the face, forcing her to turn as she examined her attempt at shaving.

“I thought I did alright, considering.” Liya said, voice partially muffled by Cynthia’s hand.

“Considering? Considering what, exactly?” She pushed away, a suspicious look on her face. The amount of eye contact was unsettling.

“Yeah, I… uh… had something happen to my blade. It’s fine though, I’m fine, what did you cook for us?”

Cynthia stormed off, leaving Liya in the kitchen with the full plates of agonisingly aromatic food teasing her. Surely, one little bite would be fine. She reached down to a plate, only vaguely aware of her internal discomfort at being taller than normal. It was stacked high with an unfamiliar smoked meat; savoury scent assailing her senses. With a snap, a piece of the crispy morsel came apart in her fingers. Mouth already watering, Liya placed the piece on her tongue and chewed fast, hoping to avoid being caught with her hand in the proverbial biscuit jar.

The sensation of flavour was overwhelming. It was one of the most salt-laden things she had tasted in multiple lifetimes, if not the saltiest, but that only served to accentuate the meat’s flavour and make her even hungrier. She couldn’t resist any longer. Brushing past manners and careful handling, she sat down at the table and grabbed what she could. Most of the offered food was identifiable either through first-hand experience or similarity, but there were some, like the crispy, smoked meat, that were completely novel.

In between rushed, ravenous mouthfuls, Liya noted that the quantity of prepared food seemed excessive for only herself and Cynthia, even counting for her currently insatiable state. She didn’t think through this point for long though, as Cynthia returned with the remains of the blade in hand. Liya only just managed to stop herself from jamming another egg into her mouth.

“Why, pray tell, did you decide to finalise your father’s razor and my curling iron? And just what did the wall do to you?” Cynthia asked, flatly. Liya could tell bubbling anger simmered under that surface.

“So you know about that? I mean... I lost concentration. Because I’m so tired, you see.” Liya floundered for an explanation.

“Hmmph. And you started eating without me, I see.”

“Sorry. Can I get any for you?”

“Don’t worry, it was all for you anyway. I’ll eat something afterwards.” Cynthia put the blade, the razor, aside and sat at the table with a prim elegance, just watching Liya. Silence stretched awkwardly until she spoke again. “Well? Go on: eat your fill. You’ll need the energy.”

If Liya didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn her body moved by itself to continue the feasting. Distantly, she noted just how much she was eating, radically more than normal.

“Fo Finthah, huwuu oo becry whu oi cahbu?” she asked around the sour taste of an unfamiliar red fruit.

“Ugh, was your mother a pig? Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Cynthia responded in disgust. Liya had barely noticed that’s what she had been doing. Perhaps Claude’s temperament was showing itself through her control? A chilling thought. She forced herself to swallow before trying again.

“Sorry. I said, ‘So Cynthia, how would you describe what I can do?’” Her hand itched to grab a slice of the still-warm bread, but she consciously resisted.

“Besides make an absolute mess suitable only for animals or very small children?” Cynthia countered with a smirk.

“You know what I mean. I know what I can do, and you do too. How would you describe it to someone who didn’t know?” She pushed on her gambit, overstepping caution in order to find out what tools were at her disposal.

Cynthia sat back, considering for a moment. Her initial puzzled stare shifted to one of contemplation. “Well, you’ve said it’s something you learned while apprenticing with Hanweir’s town smithy. Something akin to ‘every weapon has a lifetime of service inherent in it before the metal refuses to fight anymore.’ You imagine taking every hit or every cut a tool will ever make, and compressing them into one last one. ‘Finalising,’ you called it. To be honest, if you hadn’t tried to show off when we were courting, I wouldn’t believe it. But, when a man can fell a tree in one strike where a team of men would take days, just because his axe is lit up like a will o’ wisp, that tends to lend credibility.”

Liya nodded along, following Claude’s logic as interpreted through his wife. “’Finalise.’ It’s a fitting name.” She thought to herself. “If you ever need to use it, it’s potentially the last attack you’ll ever make if it works or not.”

Cynthia scoffed, and Liya realised she had been talking out loud. “I suppose, but don’t you go getting a big head about it. You probably just heard it in a children’s rhyme, most likely. An absolute blockhead like you would never be able to read, let alone something even vaguely poetic like that.”

Despite herself, Liya blushed. “Well, I thought it was good.”

Cynthia patted her hand like one might a child’s, reminding Liya once more of the foreign differences between her host’s body and what she was more accustomed to.

“Of course you do.” Cynthia reassured, with an air of condescension in her honeyed tones. “Now, have you filled your hunger to satisfaction?”

“I guess so?” Liya answered. She could still eat more, but in her mind she considered the food left and found the amount absurd.

“Good. Now I can get mine.”

Liya surveyed the remains of her ravenous hunger. “There’s still some left, but I could make something fresh if you like? Might need a minute or two…”

Cynthia burst into peals of laughter. “What a lovely sound,” Liya caught herself noticing; a thought quickly followed by “Wait, where did that come from?”

“You? Cook?! You couldn’t boil water if your life depended on it!” Cynthia managed to scream between boisterous laughs. Liya blushed again, remembering she was supposed to be Claude, or, at the very least, assuming his role in this world. Why did she think he would know how to cook just because she did?

“Ha… ha ha, silly me. Of course, how could I forget? I guess I just… wanted to try and return the favour for once?”

Cynthia had started to calm down, but something in what Liya said set her off again, howling until tears streaked her face. Eventually, the fit passed and she was able to speak again, though her mouth quivered with the threat of laughter. “Return the favour? You always do, love. You know I always fix myself some food after we’re done, and you’re resting. Come now.”

Leading Liya by the hand, Cynthia rose and gently pulled her into the hall. Liya thought “Despite her brash nature and outrageous appearance, maybe this Cynthia is alright. Certainly not bad to look at, and… NO! That’s not me! Stop thinking that!”. She recognised the room Cynthia led them towards as the master bedroom, and anxiety gripped tight. What exactly did she have in mind?

“Close the door, love. Not that I’m expecting company, but you never know.” Cynthia said over her shoulder, releasing Liya’s hand. She was twisting her arm behind her back, loosening the bindings of her corset. With a flash of fear, Liya turned away.

“No, I can’t do this! It’s not right!” Liya protested, facing the door. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric softly landing on the ground and being placed on the chair seen earlier, followed by the creaking of weight on the bed.

“Of course you can do this. I’m inviting you. Turn around.”

Nervously and slowly, Liya turned. Cynthia lay there, naked as the day she was born, posing in a manner that to call seductive would do a disservice. At the mere sight of all her… flesh on display, Liya felt pressure growing in her pants. More intensely and vibrantly than before, and she couldn’t think of any way to hide or get rid of it.

“See?” Cynthia said, “You say no, but you really mean yes. Maybe you need a little push this time?”

As far as Liya could tell, nothing happened, but suddenly she became more aware of Cynthia: her shape, her smell, her everything. She wondered what she tasted like, how all that skin felt. The last walls of resistance crumbled, and Liya hastily fumbled to remove fresh clothes put on minutes prior, nearly tearing them in places to be free of them. She struggled with the pants and smallclothes more than the shirt, unfamiliar with how to manoeuvre in her current state. But, finally, she was as naked as Cynthia, though this wreck of a man Liya inhabited contained far less beauty; Liya longed to do anything to please this goddess in front of her.

With a crooked finger, Cynthia beckoned Liya to approach; all the signal she needed. She lay on the bed beside Cynthia, kissing at her neck, caressing her astoundingly soft body with borrowed hands tougher than Liya had ever known. Her genitals, engorged and stiffened in uncomfortable strangeness, twitched in anticipation. With a look of confusion, Cynthia pushed Liya away from her face. Liya felt hurt; had she committed some sin, or upset this beauty in some way? Wordlessly, Cynthia pointed down, towards Liya’s aching appendage, and shifted her legs to spread slightly in open invitation.

“Of course!” Liya thought. “This is the man’s job in the act, she was already ready!”

Fumbling, Liya moved to penetrate, spurred on by Cynthia’s acquiescence. The inside of her was tight and warm, and Liya could feel the pulsing of a heartbeat. The sensations were unlike any she was used to, almost pushing her past the edge of pleasure with the barest effort, but she forced herself to withhold that release, to build on it in anticipation. Positioning herself above the bed, she began to thrust, slowly. But again, Cynthia pushed back, frustratingly.

“What is wrong with you today? It’s like you have no idea what you’re doing!” Cynthia accused, her breath quickening nonetheless. Her frown changed into a cat-like grin as she continued. “Or did you want me to take control? Naughty, naughty.”

With a move, that to Liya felt like the combat trick she had used as Shaafia to defend against Mansoor, Cynthia twisted her hips and legs to invert their positions, her on top and Liya now with her back on the bed. She swept the hair from her face, and began to grind against Liya, their organs joined together in passionate physicality. Liya was lost in feelings, the incredible sensation coming from beneath and the fog in her mind begging for Cynthia’s approval and love fighting against and working with each other in equal measure. Not wanting to remain an idle participant, Liya reached up towards her heaving bosom, caressing and squeezing the nipples to instant appreciation as Cynthia suppressed a delighted shudder.

A flash of inspiration struck Liya as she remembered one of Sadi’s, and her, favourite tricks, though it was odd to be on the delivering end. She let one hand travel down the curves of Cynthia’s body, to the place where they joined as one. Just about… there it was. The slightest brush of a finger, and Liya could tell she had felt it. Body vibrating in release, ecstasy flooding the senses, Cynthia could not suppress it any longer and let out a joyous shriek. Faster, and stronger they went, until together they felt it. A far different experience for Liya, but no less pleasurable. Almost like being struck with a fist, but feeling power and love instead of pain. She felt almost blown backwards by it: white energy shooting up her spine and incinerating all her senses until there was nothing left but an endless ocean of pleasure to drift in. But all too soon, it faded. Panting with exertion, Liya relaxed on the bed as Cynthia fell beside her, still adrift in the glow. It was supposed to feel like time had stopped, and her whole body was as light as air; this didn’t. Too many parts of her hurt, and a slightly nauseous sensation wavered through her. But Liya could also feel her physical form fading fast as the adrenaline wore off, and, a moment later, she slept.

Whatever that foggy feeling was lifted, leaving Liya adrift in Claude’s slumbering mind without sensation, freer to reflect on what she had just done, and felt. At the time, it was amazing, but a lesser substitute for the real thing. Now it felt like a waste; all that potential gone in one explosion of half-baked pleasure, leaving her feeling disgusted both emotionally and physically. If she had a stomach in this form, she would have considered emptying it in revulsion.

Without any way to track the passage of time, and basically none to spare in her spiritual form, Liya was stuck until Claude’s body woke up. She tried to visualise a mental exercise, thinking to improve her technique, to little avail. Suke, her scout partner during her time among the Abzan, told her he could train his forms and swordplay in his mind like he was watching himself, even while engaged otherwise. Liya had struggled with creating an image, but he was all too happy to try and help impart that skill. Until he turned on her through her own fault, of course. The memory still hurt, even through the years. She wondered if he still lived; unlikely, given the dragons she had unknowingly inflicted on the clan.

Liya floated there in the empty void of her own mind, once more in a spiral of condemnation and self-blame, until the sensations of life returned, orienting her within the space. At once, she felt something wrong. Usually, her senses returned gradually, easing her out of sleep as her spirit dominated the host. But this time, the feeling of touch came to her erratically, in fits, accompanied by bolts of pain. Something was very wrong with Claude’s body, and she couldn’t do anything about it in her current state.

Then, she felt the barest, soft touch on her face, and a voice, Cynthia’s voice, at her ear. “Still more in you? How odd. Still, can’t have that.” And then, a kiss, a surge of pleasure, then it was all gone again; once more an empty void of unconsciousness. Liya was beyond confused; something was happening to her host, something incredibly painful for it to come through the void so strong, and she was helpless against it. Mentally, she tensed, preparing for another attack of pain, but it never came. The next feelings that returned to her were of normal waking, and she blinked open eyes against pale sunlight filtering through window shades. Liya felt amazing, like there wasn’t a single knotted muscle or fatigued joint in her body. But, in fairness, she had no idea how this body usually felt after such… activity. With a yawn and a stretch, she looked around the room, seeing Cynthia in the comfortable chair by the bookcases, book in hand, and a thin glass full of dark red liquid sitting on the small table next to her. Even from here, Liya could smell wine; it must be quite strong.

“Oh, you’re awake now, are you? That’s nice. Thought you were going to sleep for a second day straight for a while.” Cynthia said, barely taking her eyes off the book.

“Se- hmm second?” Liya asked, clearing her throat. Her tongue felt thick, her throat rough and dry.

“Yes, you slept right through. Well, nearly. But yes, the second day. I’ve been thinking while I read. You seemed very… unlike yourself before. And you learnt some new tricks. Not that they weren’t appreciated, of course, but that’s certainly not something I ever taught you.” She closed the book and set it aside, locking eyes with Liya. “Who’s Sadi?”

Liya was stunned. “Sorry, what?”

“Sadi.” Cynthia repeated, in a tone that was too calm. “You talked in your sleep. You mentioned a Sadi, and how you loved them, and begged for help. There were a few other names too. All ones I’ve never heard before. Care to explain?”

Panic started to build in Liya’s chest. What had she said? How much had she revealed? She tried to play it off. “Oh, that’s just… a friend of mine in town. You haven’t met.”

Cynthia slammed the book down. “Don’t lie to me! Who is she?!” she screamed in fury. “What about Suke? Another trollop you’ve lain with? Have you ever really gone hunting?”

“I can explain! …I think. I’m…” Liya swallowed with nerves, thoughts tumbling towards the terrifying conclusion of what she was about to say, “…not actually Claude.”

“Oh, there’s no lying about a secret twin brother, or whatever shit you’re about to stumble over. I know the truth.” Cynthia put a hand to her forehead and squeezed, an apparent attempt to calm herself. “Look, we can talk about this later. Right now, I need to be alone, and you need to not be here, otherwise things might get broken, and I’m sure you probably need at least one of your arms. Get out, and make sure you’re back by sundown.”

Liya didn’t need telling twice. She grabbed the pile of clothes discarded at the foot of the bed, and practically hopped across the room as she tried to dress and run at the same time. Countless thoughts raced through her mind. If she had mentioned Sadi and Suke, amongst others apparently, had she revealed her biggest secret: that she was a traveller from another world, hitching a ride in the body of a stranger? Time to get away, but where? In the distance, she spotted the town gate, and inspiration struck as she dashed off.

As expected, Heinrich was just finishing his shift. She hailed him and paused for breath.

“Aye Claude? What’s happening?” Heinrich asked, a cheerful smile on his face.

“I was thinking, huff… that I might go on another hunt today, and that you wanted your son to come along. D…?” Liya started, before forgetting the name.

“Derrich?”

“Yes, Derrich. That’s the lad. Been a while since I’ve seen him, and as you know he’s eager to apprentice under me. I figured, what better time?”

“You usually stick around for a couple days before heading back out. You okay?” Heinrich’s smile became a look of concern.

“Never better. Why, as good as I feel, I could probably take down 10 of… the beasts.” Liya professed, realising she was in over her head on the falsehood but unable to back out now.

Heinrich chortled and clapped her on the back. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as painful as she would have expected, given the strength she could feel behind it. “Wouldn’t surprise me, mate. Would not surprise me. Come on then, let’s go get him.”

Together, they walked the familiar path towards Claude’s house, and Liya unconsciously tensed up. But they continued past, and eventually came to a humbler house of similar design but harder wear. Heinrich pulled a large key from his belt, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

“I’m home!” Heinrich called into the house.

A red-headed woman poked her head from around a door and smiled at the two of them. “Claude! Nice to see you out and around!” she responded.

“And you…!” Liya started to say, before catching herself. Claude might know this woman’s name, but she had never heard it. “Is Derrich about?”

“He’s out back, cutting some firewood; he shouldn’t be long. Can I get you some tea?”

Liya shook her head, despite the grumbling of her empty stomach. “I shouldn’t be long. Just looking to pick up the boy and head out for a hunt.”

“He’s nineteen. But he’ll be so excited! Anything you would recommend he bring?” the woman asked, drying her hands on a rag.

Before Liya could even attempt to answer, Heinrich cut in. “Oh, he’ll be fine. Claude will probably do all the actual work, if any. Just gives us a chance to have some peace and quiet for a couple of days. What’s for supper?”

“I told you yesterday, dear: leftovers.”

“Oh yeah. Well, that’s good too.”

A call came from behind the house. “Mom, I’ve finished the firewood, can I go…” the voice cut off as a young man turned the corner and took in the gathering at the front door.

“Derrich.” Heinrich said, flatly.

“Hi, Dad. H-hello, sir.” Derrich responded, nervously.

“Hello Derrich. How are you today?” Liya asked, trying her best to smile. She had no idea what impression such an act would impart in this body, but she hoped it came across as gently as she intended. The boy was clearly shocked and nervous, so she was trying to calm him down by showing she meant no harm or ill-will. Derrich, eyes as wide as plates, said nothing.

“You know,” Heinrich began, “Claude here’s doing us a bit of a favour. Countless times, I’ve asked, hell, damn near begged on your behalf because of your persistence to be allowed to accompany him on one of his hunting expeditions, and, out of concern for your safety, he’s said no each time. “But,” Heinrich turned to give Liya a sly wink so his son couldn’t see, suggesting he was laying it on intentionally thick, “if you pledge to follow his instructions TO THE LETTER, he may, MAY mind you, say yes this time. What do you say?”

Derrich finally broke out of his motionless, shocked stare, barely able to contain obvious excitement. “Ohyes,yes,yes,I’lldowhateverittakes!Ican’tbelieveit!Wow!” He began to ramble near incomprehensibly as his tongue seemed to disengage from his brain and start to run. Heinrich nodded his head towards the youth while looking at Liya, inviting her to the fun.

“Silence!” She commanded in a firm, low voice. Her martial training had given some experience on which to draw. In his haste to comply, Liya thought Derrich might have bitten his tongue, but, if so, showed no signs of a reaction.

“Make an animal noise,” she barked. Derrich tilted his head curiously for a moment before realising she was serious, and attempted to crow like a cockerel at dawn. She could see Heinrich struggling to keep a straight face. His wife had already succumbed to the burgeoning laughter she tried to conceal behind her hand.

“Now, hop on one foot,” she ordered her recruit. She could almost see the Knight’s uniform in front of her.

“...Sir?” Derrich questioned.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were to follow my instructions? Guess you don’t want to leave your home after all…?”

He stiffened, and began hopping without another word.

“Alright, you can stop. We might just make a Knight… I mean, apprentice out of you yet, boy.” Liya said, mustering up all the authority she could from her previous lives.

“I’m nineteen. But, I get it now sir; you were testing to see if I had the skills to aid you out there! If I could be sneaky, if I had some knowledge of nature, and if I had physical balance and stamina. Is that right?” Derrich asked.

“Well, there’s that,” Liya began, “but mostly I just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

Heinrich lost his composure, bellowing out a deep, guffawing laugh. He clapped Liya on the back again. “Look after him though, yeah mate?”

Liya nodded. “On my word, no creature from beyond those walls would dare harm a hair on his head while I’m around. I’ll treat him like my own son.” Liya vowed, left hand to her shoulder in the Melenasian style, before realising she had gotten too deep into character. She must stop unconsciously trying to give herself away as a fraud.

“Right. Well Derrich? Grab your gear. Oh, and a second sword for Claude while you’re at it.” Heinrich said, resuming his stoic expression. The boy nodded and dashed into the house.

“No, I couldn’t…” Liya protested.

“Nonsense, you can’t go out there with nothing, and something tells me you want to be off as quick as possible, otherwise you’d be at home with that charming wife of yours.” Heinrich waved his hand, dismissing her objections.

“Well, true but...”

“See? Makes sense. Plus, you’re protecting our son. Job’s much easier with a sword. Oh, and some supplies. Evelin?”

Heinrich’s wife nodded firmly. “Already on it. There’s some bacon in the cellar that should be dried enough to travel, and I have plenty of scones left from breakfast.” She followed her son into the house, but with considerably more composure.

“You’re a good man, Heinrich,” Liya said, genuinely touched.

“Nah mate, you’re helping Derrich out in a way I couldn’t connect to him with. And with any luck, he’ll either take to it like a fish in water, or come around to it and join me in the Watch. Either way, he’ll be of use to us and himself, rather than wasting his time around town with those so-called ‘friends’ of his. Never seen a bigger group of scobberlotchers and lubberworts in all of Gavony. All of Innistrad, for that matter.” Heinrich shook his head, stifling another yawn. “I’ll see him off, then it’s some well-earned rest for me.” Liya had no idea what he had just said, but it seemed disparaging and she wasn’t inclined to argue.

Heinrich’s wife, Evelin, returned with a tied cloth bag. Liya could smell more of the salted meat she had enjoyed earlier, and her mouth started watering. She held it out for Liya to take, saying “It’s not much, but should help out with your first meal.”

“Thank you, Evelin. You’re a good woman.” Liya said.

Evelin blushed a little. “You’re too kind. Save that talk for your wife.”

Further conversation was interrupted by shuffling and clanging noises proceeding through the house as Derrich returned, simultaneously trying to tie some leather armour on and juggle a bag the size of his torso without dropping anything. “I’m ready to go, sir!”

Heinrich cleared his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Derrich looked confused at first, shifting his eyes towards each of the three others, before finally resting on Liya as recognition struck. “Oh, the sword! Right!” He fumbled with trying to pull a sword and scabbard out from the mess of supplies he carried, accidentally dropping a spare shirt and a small tin cup on the ground.

Liya stepped forward and took some of the load from the youth. “How much is even in this thing?” She wondered, as muscles strained. She knew she was physically stronger than ever before without magic, but even this was a challenge. Relieved of the encumbrance, Derrich pulled the sword loose and handed it to his father before shifting more of the weight, letting Liya step away.

Heinrich gave the sword a quick inspection before holding it out to Liya. “Here ya go, Claude. It’s not the finest blade, and maybe a shade less than you’re used to, but the lad’s picked well and it should serve just as fine.”

Liya took the proffered sword, and tied the belt around her waist in her customary fashion. With a smooth motion, she drew it, made a couple of simple forms, and resheathed. She was glad to have a blade at her side again, and more so that whatever affliction Claude suffered in his hip had not affected his arms or wrists. She could work with this.

“Alright,” Heinrich said, clapping his hands together briskly, “sooner begun is sooner done. See you in a few days, I’m off to bed.” He held out his hand, and gave a firm shake to both Derrich and Liya before heading inside.

Evelin gave Derrich a hug and a kiss, and whispered something to him before heading over to Liya. “Look after him, please. And, thank you.” She stood on her toes and gave Liya a kiss on the cheek, then stood at the doorway waiting for them to leave.

“Derrich? Let’s be off,” Liya said, adjusting the sword at her hip and looking for the boy to follow as she walked off. Derrich fumbled with the overstuffed pack as he hurried to catch up, Evelin waving as they went, but, before long, the two walked through the gate and towards the woods where Liya had arrived into this world.

“So boy,” Liya started, still playing the part of the gruff mentor figure for Derrich’s benefit, “tell me what you know of our prey. And don’t think I won’t correct you if you get something wrong. This is training, not daycare.”

“Uhh…” Derrich mumbled, startled by the sudden question. He paused in his tracks to think, causing Liya to turn and watch. “Werewolves are hard to kill, needing to be shot with a silvered crossbow bolt or cut with a silvered sword. Or, uh, just cut off their head normally.”

“Is that all?” Liya asked, mentally taking her own notes. He might not be the most reliable source of information, but one she could exploit without exposing her cover.

“There’s, um, also they’re stronger at a full moon because they can’t resist changing like at normal times. And… and, um…” Derrich stuttered, face reddening from the attention.

"And?" Liya prompted.

“Um… I’m sorry sir, that’s everything I know. My mom doesn’t know I even know that much, but Dad insisted I learn it. Please don’t tell on me?”

Liya almost laughed before she saw how defensively he was standing. There was a genuine concern, if not fear, that she would indeed reveal his apparent duplicity to his mother and implicate Heinrich in this heinous act to boot.

“Why would I do that?” Liya asked Derrich, softening her tone. It wasn’t the hardened trainer he needed now, but a sympathetic ear. “We’re all of us friends, and I can’t think of an easier way to lose an apprentice. You did well, boy. No; you did well, Derrich.”

Derrich stood up straight, bolstered by the praise.

“But if you can’t move and think at the same time, all a werewolv would need to do is ask you to add 2 and 3 together, and that’s all but serving Derrich Pie,” Liya chided, guessing at the single version of the foreign word.

“Lucky a werewolf can’t speak then!” Derrich retorted, before falling silent in thought again.

Liya turned to press on. “Quite so. Come on; we’ve still got some ground to cover before we rest.” Truthfully, she had no idea where she was leading them, but she knew what, or who, she was putting distance between, and she wasn’t willing to take the risk, even to maintain her cover.

"Five!" a voice called out.

Startled, Liya spun on her heels, hand instinctively dropping to her hip to take the hilt of the sword, scanning the surroundings for danger. But there were none. Derrich hadn’t been following her, but evidently paralysed by intense thought.

“It’s five! …Isn’t it? 2 added to 3?” He started to sound unsure of himself.

Liya could feel her skin turn pale as a pit of dread opened in her borrowed stomach. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Liya prepared the fire as Derrich skinned the rabbits he had taken for their evening meal. They looked strangely similar to the ones on Melenas to Liya’s eyes, except for the lack of horn. It was a shame, because the marrow inside the horn was the tastiest part, at least in her opinion. The weather had turned overcast and thick with the threat of rain, but it held off so far. They camped farther south than where Liya had made her entrance into this world, in a small clearing just within the forest interior. According to Derrich, werewolves only hunted at night, and usually in packs, so Liya was wary but not yet at full alert. As the sun set, the pair fed on roast rabbit and the trail rations Evelin had provided. The bacon was especially tasty to Liya, though undoubtedly salty.

Derrich broke the near-meditative silence first. “Do you think we’ll be alright, sir?”

Liya took a moment of self-assessment. Claude’s ability was something to keep in mind, but not rely on. Her own skill with a sword was handy, but she would be the first to admit she wasn’t a master. Derrich was an unknown quantity; he could turn out to be the greatest warrior she had ever seen, but she didn’t hold out much hope for that. Mostly, he was a liability; another thing for Liya to worry about in a fraught situation rather than just keeping her host intact. Still, he expected an answer.

She leaned back, rolling her shoulder to stretch it a bit. “I’ve been in some tough spots, and yet I’m still alive and kicking. So don’t worry about it,” she stated. Her chest had been starting to itch for a couple of minutes now, so she idly scratched at it, privately revelling in the liberty to do so as a man.

Derrich visibly relaxed. “Oh, that’s good, sir. It’s nearly moonrise, and I couldn’t help but think of all the worst kinds of things.” As if on cue, the cloud cover parted, and silvery beams of pale moonlight illuminated the pair’s campsite.

Liya started to say something about not letting fear control you, but found herself distracted by the itching in her chest again. Scratching wasn’t easing or relaxing it in any appreciable way. In fact, it seemed to be growing stronger and more pressing.

“...Sir?” Derrich asked, warily getting to his feet.

Once more, Liya tried to talk, but the ability of speech failed her. The itching turned into a burning sensation, and began to spread outwards from Claude’s old scar. It grew hotter and hotter, filling every part of her body from the inside out. Uncontrollably, she started to scream as pain overwhelmed her in waves. Just as she thought it had reached its peak, the essence she could identify as Claude’s mind fell away; it was much like when she slept, but instead of fading into a peaceful void of unconscious darkness like normal, Liya remained fully aware. She tried to suppress the scream, only to find her control of this host body, if it even was still Claude, gone. Briefly, she wondered if this was what all her hosts experienced while she was using her power, but the intense pain banished all thought from…

Like a lot of children, Liya had done herself some amount of injury in the course of play and growing up, and was unfortunately familiar with the feeling of breaking a bone. As the burning subsided slightly, the pain was akin to that, except not limited to one spot; it felt like every single bone was breaking in every place it could physically break. The pain crested over ever more excruciating heights as she felt every part of her body stretched, pulled, and reshaped. Through the blinding haze of agony, she was only vaguely aware that Derrich tried in vain to scramble backwards and away, and appeared to be getting smaller. No, she was getting bigger.

From seemingly every patch of exposed skin, bristly, coarse hair sprouted and forced itself outward. Beneath her skin, muscles bulged as clothes tore along seams and exploded in shreds. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stood hulking over Derrich and the fire, panting in exhaustion with her stomach growling demands for food. With all her might and practiced skill, Liya tried to exert and reaffirm her control over the beast her host had become. She could still feel the connection to Claude, but it was as if this was some Other creature that shared their spiritual space. Claude had succumbed to this Other, and Liya had been taken with him. She was a prisoner in this deformed body.

Derrich looked paralysed in sheer terror, eyes widening beyond belief. “W… w… w… WEREWOLF! HELP!!”

The creature Liya had become turned its head sharply towards the noise, noticing the young man for the first time. Under no volition of her own, she lunged towards Derrich, snapping a grotesquely elongated mouth in an attempted bite. To his credit, Derrich had the wherewithal to roll out of the way and reach for his sword.

Internally, Liya was crying in anguish, desperately trying again and again to regain control and save the young man. Externally, she let out a chilling, bestial howl and lunged again. Derrich drew the blade in a panic and slashed wildly, stumbling over his ridiculous bag. Liya could feel the sting of it finding its mark, though barely, followed by a familiar burning. His sword must have been coated in silver! Clever lad!

But in that instant of vicarious victory, Liya realised Derrich had left himself wide open for a counterstrike, sprawled on the ground with no hope. Unfortunately, the Other made the same connections, and in a swiftly horrifying movement pounced upon the boy and sank its fangs into his throat. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t do anything except experience the kill. The bursts of blood filling her mouth as his heart pumped rapidly in fear. The taste of the metallic bite as it gushed and flowed across her tongue. The way it bubbled sporadically as Derrich tried in vain to scream his dying breath. The look of betrayal and fear in his eyes, reflecting the monster she felt.

Mentally, Liya tried to force her eyes shut, to disengage, to do anything but be a puppet to the senseless slaughter. But, again, to no avail. In a panic, she contemplated fleeing Claude’s mutated body, even aware of how few sand grains remained in her spiritual hourglass before she would be pulled home. She had to endure it though, the prophecy was too important to risk missing the reason behind her being her at this time, in this situation, even if it was beyond her understanding.

A faint howling sang out from deeper within the forest. Liya found herself responding in kind, blood still dripping from her jaw, before dashing off into the trees on all fours. She tried her best to visualise and remember the awkward young man whose only crimes were maybe smiling a bit too much and having the misfortune to cross her path.

It wasn’t long before she came across a small group of creatures like her, and she could see just what a monster she must have looked to Derrich in his final moments. They circled each other cautiously, sniffing and testing, before the group evidently accepted her with a snorting breath from what she judged to be the leader. As one, the pack turned and ran to the hunt. All the while, Liya struggled to grieve and escape, trapped within the fight.

Liya wasn’t sure if the effects of the transformation waned because of the coming day, or from the physical exertion all night. Together, they had brought down an animal with spreading horns and shared in the feeding, heeding to a hierarchy Liya couldn’t understand, but her Other did. There wasn’t much left by the time she snatched a few hasty bites as the lowest-ranked member of this temporary gathering; luckily, from a certain point of view, Derrich had provided a meal that wasn’t distributed to others.

The pack broke up an hour or so before dawn.She refused to name it to herself, though she knew now what the Other was. Derrich had feared it, and justifiably so. She blamed herself for not asking more questions; there were too many unsolved mysteries. The scar across the chest that couldn’t have been a survivable wound if inflicted normally. The nudity and out-of-place awakening. The exhaustion of the morning. The burning of hands against the silvered glass of the mirror.

The Other wound its way back towards the now-ruined camp, but, before arriving, it collapsed face-down in the forest undergrowth. Liya was extremely confused, until, from the corner of her imprisoned eye, she saw a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon.

Then the pain bit again.

Just as it heralded the arrival of the Other, now it signaled its retreat. Once more, she felt the agony of bones splintering and reforming, her body adjusting itself to a more human form. And then, nothing but the void.

For a moment, she floated in her mind’s eye, until the blooming of awareness returned to her senses. This was familiar, a host’s body awakening after rest, but peppered with a full-body ache that begged for ease. Like gradually increasing the pouring angle of water from a bucket, she felt feeling and control return to her. As soon as she was able, she sat up; aware of, but ignoring, her unfamiliar nudity and the sensations it brought to her female mind. With a body protesting the extra movements, she continued down the trail until she broke through the treeline and within sight of the camp. Derrich’s body still lay in ruins where she had struck him down, already starting to suffer the effects of wilderness exposure. Her former clothes, still in tatters, lay strewn next to the extinguished fire. Numb, Liya made her way to Derrich’s pack. She withdrew one of a few sets of clothes and dressed. Tentatively, she tested her loaned blade against her skin, opting to leave it behind when it caused no harm; instead she retrieved Derrich’s silvered blade from his body. As if in a dream, she started to walk off aimlessly, before realising she couldn’t see where she was going through the cascade of tears streaking down her face. She forced herself to turn around and return to the scene.

Once more she rummaged through Derrich’s belongings, pulling out a compact shovel. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first grave she had had to dig. Once done, she tied a crude wooden marker together and drove it into the plot, signalling where an innocent soul lay. She drew the non-silvered blade, and, drawing upon Claude’s magic, channeled the purple energy of Finalisation into it, plunging it into the dirt where the marker met it. Sparks shot off the blade as all its power released at once, scarring, burning, and fusing with the marker in a unique way. Reluctantly, Liya also offered a prayer to Erebos, the god that had basically enslaved her to his service, that Derrich’s spirit be honoured and protected in his domain, because he certainly didn’t deserve this. Still crying, Liya stood unsteadily, and walked away. She had no destination to speak of, only places to avoid.

She stumbled on, heedless of the protests of her empty stomach and aching feet. Eventually, the forests and plains gave way to rocky coastlines and shoreside cliffs. As the sun began to set, Liya felt that itching again from the scar across her chest. Remembering the state she had initially found Claude in, Liya used what time she had left of conscious control to undress and place her borrowed clothes and sword in a neatly folded pile that she hoped would be left alone for her retrieval in the morning.

As the itch reached its peak and began transitioning to pain, she sighed remorsefully, and let the change take her. If she was destined to play the role of the monster, best to accept it rather than fight fate.

Waves of pain threatened to overwhelm, as Liya mentally gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to fight back or run away. This was her penance for everything her presence in this world had caused.

Once more, the searing agony reached an unbearable pinnacle, and she could feel her connection with Claude fade and disappear. This time however, she could feel the awareness of the Other waking, and mentally submitting to her dominion.

She stood, panting in exertion; a towering, unfamiliar height to her vision, and relaxed herself. The beast offered no resistance to her movements, and Liya realised SHE WAS IN CONTROL. Experimentally, she flexed her arm and balled her hand into an approximation of a fist. She could feel untold strength rippling beneath the bristling fur, sharp claws biting into her palm.

She ran what felt like an impossibly long tongue over broken shards of teeth and fangs, shuddering internally at how vicious they felt, suppressing memories of how they tore into unsuspecting jugulars. Attempts at speech were beyond her, as the creature had evidently not been designed with civility in mind, limited to guttural growls and warbles. She tried to channel Claude’s power, but felt no connection. Not in the way that what she was trying to do wasn’t compatible, but that the power simply wasn’t there.

From further along the coast, Liya suddenly became aware of an odd pulling sensation. It was like the familiar call of home on her spirit, but from outside herself. Only once before had she felt something similar, on a rain-drenched battlefield in a land of dragons and clans, as her opponent pierced her disguise and vanished into shadow. Not the same, though, in a way only describable as a different flavor; that had been ripe with decay, whereas this was akin to drinking water from a mountain stream, rich with minerals and earth. It started as a blink, then grew stronger. Heart in her throat with excitement, Liya ran towards the feeling, marvelling at the speed under her command. She had never felt as strong, and, despite herself, she loved it.

The pull led her to a small rocky clearing near sea level. Liya could all but taste it now, but there was no one around to claim responsibility. The rocky landscape provided ample cover, even allowing for her enlarged form, so she crouched behind a rock and waited.

The sensation and mineral taste grew stronger and stronger until it was like chewing a stone, and then in an instant it was gone, replaced by a stationary female form. Her skin was a slate grey with shock white hair, and she wore travel-hardened leathers in an odd style, a red band tied around her arm. Liya watched as the woman looked around, and plunged her hand directly into the shoreside stone. In a blinding flash of heat, she pulled a molten sword from the rock, which cooled in an instant into a deadly weapon of intricate design.

Liya was beside herself; this must be the “Shaper” mentioned in that prophecy; the reason for her presence here! She almost leapt to her feet to greet the woman, but caught herself as she recalled the proper context of this moment: “The shaper is thy charge, though knows it naught.” Liya turned the phrase over in her mind: she had to protect this woman, in secret from her and all others. A frustrating charge.

The shaper ran her hand along the blade, checking for imperfections. Frowning, having evidently found some, she buried it back in the stone with a smooth, quick motion. Another flare of heat, and, to Liya’s eyes, it looked to be seamless, mundane stone once more.

Suddenly, the shaper’s head perked up as she turned to look further along the coast; with a sense of mineral-laden water again, she was gone. Concentrating, Liya could still feel her, though further away, in the direction of the high cliffs on the horizon. The shaper had travelled in a similar method to the mysterious Sultai warrior and, as she assumed, Liya herself; however, rather than using it to travel between worlds, the shaper had used it to traverse that distance in the blink of an eye. Liya was astounded at her talent.

She noticed something else while focusing, something the shaper may have sensed too; since her arrival on this world, Liya had felt a constant, yet faint smell of dust, like clothes untouched for years, surrounding everything. Yet, another traveller’s essence was present on the cliffs; if the sense of it was as all-pervasive as Liya sensed now, either the owner of it was intrinsically tied to this place, or was powerful beyond comprehension. Either way, she worried about what it meant for the prophecy.

Following the trail of the shaper and the other, more dominating presence, Liya took off on all fours as fast as her monstrously-shifted form would allow, with an unsettling swiftness and ease.

Liya approached the cliff’s edge cautiously. She could hear ocean waves crashing far below. Ahead, the shaper was talking to a pale man in a black cloak, near a giant monolith of roughly-hewn rock. She couldn’t quite hear the words, but the mood between them seemed friendly enough for now. The clifftop itself provided little cover, so she had to make do with the slight roll of the landscape and a withering tree with red leaves, hoping they would be too preoccupied with each other to notice her practically prone form.

As she watched, the discussion slowly turned towards argument, to Liya’s dismay. She might not have a personal stake here, shouldn’t get involved, but the words of the prophecy connected her to the shaper. The man turned his back, evidently the wrong move to make. The ground shook under Liya’s feet; as best as she could tell, it was the shaper’s doing, standing there unaffected.

Suddenly, a pillar of stone grew beneath the shaper’s feet, lifting her skywards as the man stumbled back from erupting earth. Shards of stone floated in the air like knives around the two as Liya watched intently, debating whether to get involved or not.

“I never threatened you,” the man shouted, volume rising enough to be heard from pillar and tree alike. “Not once. If we are to be enemies, child, the blame falls solely at your feet.”

“I’m not a child,” the shaper replied. “Whatever we were, surely you can see we’re equals now.”

“All I see is a tantrum,” the man continued. “If you came to meet an equal, you should have come under truce, following the protocols for parley with a fellow Planeswalker.”

That word, that title, hit Liya hard. If these two were like her, and were called Planeswalker, did that make her one too? It made sense in its way. But the man also spoke of protocol, so was there more to it than being able to traverse the stars to other worlds, other planes? How many unspoken laws was she unknowingly breaking, and what was the punishment?

By the time Liya returned from her reverie, the battle had begun. He launched bolts of dark magic at her; she threw rocks at him while leaping from pillar to pillar, each growing in an instant and sinking away when no longer needed. At one point, the shaper trapped the man within a pillar, crushing him, even if he was quick to escape with little harm.

The shaper spoke again, quieter now, but ringing out in the sudden quiet pause to the battle. “I don’t want your enmity. All I ever wanted was your help, Sorin. You made a promise. Come with me.” Her voice kept a hardened edge, but a pleading note traced the words.

The man, Sorin, Liya deduced, barely reacted. “Not now,” he said. “Later perhaps. This is a critical time…”

“A critical time! The Eldrazi almost escaped. You’re thinking in terms of eons, but for all I know the Eldrazi are loose now. All that we worked for will be lost, your own plane will be in danger; don’t you care about that?” The shaper accused in a fury. Liya stumbled for understanding amidst the unfamiliar terms and unknown context, but she heard the emotions clearly.

The shaper remained silent for a moment before the fight began anew. Shards of stone exploded in all directions, mostly aimed at Sorin, but one, despite her reaction, was unlucky enough to catch Liya in the leg. She bit down hard to suppress a cry of pain. She was considerably out of her depth.

Sorin stalked menacingly toward the shaper, raising his hand and calling down a beam of moonlight around her, fixing the woman in place despite her struggles. “Go home, Nahiri. End this farce and I will allow you…”. He halted as the shaper, or Nahiri, sunk into the ground like it was water to escape the light.

From this distance, it was hard to tell for sure, but Liya doubted Sorin reacted in any visible measure. He paced in front of the monolith that dominated the clifftop as Nahiri emerged from the ground, and kept rising, elevated on yet another pillar of stone. She reached down and pulled a molten sword from the pillar, as Liya had seen her do previously.

Before she could strike, a wind of feathers and shining light knocked Nahiri from her perch. Liya marvelled at the sight, allowing herself a moment of unrestrained joy; all through her early childhood, her mother regaled her with fanciful stories of angels and other fantastical creatures. Now here one was in the flesh!

The joy was short lived, however, as the battle swiftly turned against Nahiri’s favour. She was being forced to defend on multiple fronts as the angel swooped and swung at her with a spear, and Sorin menaced with sword and magical blasts from below. He stepped into a blow, deflecting it easily with his sword, preventing the angel from landing a potentially lethal strike on Nahiri as he yelled: “Enough!”. Light infused Sorin’s blade as he forced Nahiri back towards the monolith. With the glow surrounding her, she could do little but struggle. The monolith seemed to liquify around her, as into in the stone she sank.

Nahiri screamed in defiance as the stone grasped hungrily. “Damn you! I trusted you!” Then, silence.

The angel flew off, but Sorin lingered for a moment, gaze fixed on the stone before vanishing in an instant, leaving Liya alone with the whispering wind off the ocean below. She waited for Nahiri to make an explosive exit from the monolith, all anger and passion, only for none to come. Warily, she approached, the ground still a mess of stone and leftover turmoil. She raised a hand to touch the monolith, expecting it to bend and flow beneath her touch, but found only the cold solidity of ordinary rock. A familiar burning in her hand grew until she pulled the clawed, misshapen appendage free in shock. The entire monolith was made of raw silver!

Liya sank to her knees in despair, oblivious to the shadow growing behind her. Nahiri had been a lifeline, a hope of redemption. Now she was gone; Liya had no reason for staying, and no hope of atonement.

“I knew you were there,” a melodic voice echoed from behind. Liya turned to face the returning angel, terrifying and beautiful. “It is fitting that you have come, for you would have been brought here on your knees soon enough.”

Liya stood and tried to run, only for the angel to raise that spear and trap her in a sphere of light much like Sorin had done to Nahiri, leaving her unable to move.

The angel spoke again, in tones of condemnation. “Know this, abomination: Avacyn grants you the mercy of her master this day.” And with a gentle, yet forceful push, the angel started to move Liya backwards, towards the stone, heels dragging on earth. From the corner of her eye, Liya could see the stone ripple like water as it touched skin; tendrils of liquid stone pulled hungrily at every part of her.

It was enough now for Liya; if the shaper, Nahiri, a powerful magic user specialising in working with stone couldn’t escape the monolith, what chance did she have? Still, she struggled against light and stone alike with all the strength of her borrowed muscle, to no avail. With regret, she exercised her final option and abandoned Claude to his fate, her spiritual form separating from his physical one. Another life added to her debt.

Floating free now, she focused on the worlds beyond the stars, sensing her connection to Melenas among them, and started drifting away as she had done numerous times before. The call of the grave had begun anyway, signalling an end to her time limit on this plane as a free traveller.

The angel’s head pivoted in Liya’s direction, shining eyes focused squarely on her. But that shouldn’t be possible! Although there had been the shade of that young boy…

“There is no escape, wraith, no deception that will spare you. Under my watch, none shall harm this land.” Avacyn said, a hollowness to her voice as she swung her spear around to ensnare Liya in another cage of light, and pushing her again toward the monolith. Liya struggled in rising panic; the light was just as secure on her incorporeal form as it had been on Claude’s living body. Glancing behind, she saw the last of Claude’s unconscious werewolf form sink beneath the stone as the monolith turned solid around him.

Moments later, the liquid stone surrounded Liya too, then nothing but darkness and silence. The pulling sensation intensified as her spirit tried to return to Melenas, but the stone was stronger. She was being pulled apart, with nothing to give under the strain; the pain kept growing.

She tried to scream, but no sound reached her. She tried to move, but the spiritual tug-of-war left her trapped in place. She even tried to shift out of the stone in the same manner as through the forest trees, but found herself unable to concentrate.

Eventually, time lost all meaning, and all she knew was agony. Years, seconds, minutes, centuries, hours, months: all as one. She dreamt, of a sort, as a way to isolate herself from the pain; dreamt of all the lives she had lived and borrowed, all the ways they could have differed, all ending in pain and blood. A parade of faces tormenting and ensuring her dismay, time and again; Avacyn, Sorin, Nahiri, Cynthia, the unnamed Sultai warrior, Sadi, Erebos, Suke, Derrich, and even her own face revelled in her suffering amongst a cast of thousands, grinning in malevolent joy.

Mind, flayed to razor strips, maddened by agony without end in a world without alternative sensation or distraction.

She was barely aware when a small light shone, growing stronger with a faint cracking sound. Pieces of the monolith crumbled, and the restraints loosened.

Like an arrow shot from a bow, Liya emerged from the stone remains as Melenas’s claim on her finally managed to reassert. The landscape was a blur as she shot through sky and stars. If she had possessed a physical form, the impact of her arrival would have killed her again, many magnitudes over. She floated in place above her grave marker in a vacant stupor as her mind struggled to rebuild itself in an existence without unending pain. Awareness dawned on her like waking from a dream as she realised that, for the first time in who knew how long, the searing suffering was gone.

She focused herself, and willed her spirit to float towards her former village, to regain her bearings, but it was like she was rooted in place, much like the tree planted years ago. Any movement she made instantly reverted, restricting her to that central spot directly above her grave.

Panic rising at the thought of renewed imprisonment, she tried again and again, straining for all she was worth.

With a desperate scream, she lunged forward once more, feeling the invisible tether tighten and snap, causing her to tumble in midair. She was free.

She looked back at the grave site. The tree had grown a great deal in the years since Liya’s death, towering above, thriving despite receiving very little attention from the living. Liya couldn’t help but wonder how healthy a fertiliser her body had made.

But after so long in the dark and quiet, everything was just so… very. Though she felt neither warmth nor chill as a spirit, the light of the sun was so bright, she imagined it burning and charring flesh. The gentle breeze was like the screeching of some inhuman beast to her ears; the faint rustling of leaf and branch a fierce pounding inside her head. She covered her ears in vain, sounds unrelenting without a physical barrier.

Gradually, Liya readapted to her senses, and the world regained a sense of calm. The experience left little desire in her to see the village, but only to escape and traverse the stars once more. She focused beyond the sky as she had always done, and felt herself drifting upwards in a reassuring, familiar fashion.

But instead of the endless field of sparkling starlight, she found chaos and a roiling mess of colours beyond comprehension. When her vision cleared, she was in front of a crowd of faces, all looking directly at her. Music, of a sort, played from above, though their notes began to falter. She heard a faint voice in her head: “I have to be accepted…,” before it was gone.

Breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat in sudden panic.

“Wait, breath? Heartbeat? I’m already in a host body?!” She thought to herself. Without thinking, she quickly gave herself a pat down. Beneath the smooth, black leather outfit she was wearing, she felt a flat, solid chest, and further inspection revealed an unfortunately familiar presence in her pants. Whoever she was at the moment, they were male.

“Oi!” a voice called out from the murmuring crowd, “I thought this was an all-blood show, not a sex one! Get on with it!” Coarse laughter joined the heckler in support.

Liya looked around again, mind reeling in confusion. She was on an elevated platform within a dimly-lit chamber. Fabrics of red and black decorated the walls in equal share to spikes of cruel design. The assembled faces were of a far wider variety than she had ever seen before. On the platform in front of her, a goblin held a position on all fours, facing the crowd. To her right, a masked woman in similar, if not identical, leathers glanced Liya’s way in confusion and anger, wielding a large hammer. Liya realised she was wearing an identical mask, with a matching hammer laying abandoned at her feet.

The masked woman leaned over and whispered, “Jasen, what the hell’s the matter with you? We can’t blow this!”

Liya was startled at being addressed. “Wha… huh?”

“It’s the fucking finale! Get that hammer! Count of three: smash his head, I’ve got the arse! And fucking bow!”

The crowd started to boo and jeer as the music held in a loop, waiting for a cue. The woman shook her head. “Oh for fuck’s…” And with a flourish, she shouldered Liya aside, and with a sickening squelch, brought her hammer down squarely on the goblin’s head, killing him instantly. The music took the cue and crescendoed. The woman bowed, making Liya’s misstep look intentional. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause instead of wiping the blood and associated viscera from their faces. Some even licked it off.

Liya suddenly realised in horror that the warm, wet feeling spattering her face and head must be goblin blood. She barely noticed as she was shoved off the platform towards a curtained area away from the crowd.

“What the fuck was that, Jasen?” The woman yelled as she ripped her mask off. She had markings around her eyes that looked more permanent than paint. “Three years! Three years we planned that routine to get a proper gig, and you fuck up the finale?!”

“I… I…” Liya stuttered, still shocked from the sight.

“What? What useless excuse are you shitting out this time?” The woman glared daggers.

“I… have to go,” Liya responded weakly. She felt faint.

“Go? The hell does that mean?” the woman asked. Liya didn’t respond, she just started walking. “Hey! Come back here!” The woman called, stamping her foot, but Liya wasn’t listening.

Liya just needed air, to not be here. Too much like the stone, all the walls closing in, and panic gripping her chest like a craftsman’s vice. Her breath came rapidly as she pushed past people and creatures of every shape and size, oblivious to their complaints and comments, picking up her pace. Someone grabbed her, and, in a daze, Liya threw a punch and wriggled free. The building was like a maze, but eventually she found an exit.

Rain splattered her face as she stared up at the sky, trying to just breathe. Impossibly tall buildings surrounded her, with people leaning on balconies many stories up. Liya gawked at the sights, dumbfounded, until the buildings appeared to be falling towards her. She ducked into an automatic defensive crouch as she’d been trained, protecting her head and neck, and shouting out in preparation for the impact.

When none came, she risked a glance to see that the buildings hadn’t moved, though some of the balcony dwellers had certainly been attracted by Liya’s behaviour. She ran again, desperate for open space.

She dashed along cobblestone streets and around corners, panic upon her, until the sky darkened for a moment. She looked up only for horror to dawn: Avacyn, the angel, had somehow followed and found her. She descended towards Liya with righteous fury scrawled across her face. Liya screamed with all the breath in her lungs, mental fortitude finally breaking, as she blacked out in fear.

Gavony Gazette – From The Vaults

Avacyn Descends!

Our saviour from the heavens approaches! The great angel Avacyn hears our prayers, vowing to protect these lands, and rid them of all the monsters that might threaten our humble way of life. Praise be! Full story within.

Succubus Rampage!

The town was shocked by the discovery of a demon in our midst, posing as longtime resident Cynthia Verheit. Normally, a succubus could only survive with a continued supply of life essence, so her infiltration was a complete surprise. She was swiftly dealt with under the full extent of justice. Story: Page 3.

MISSING PERSONS

The guard of Gavony is seeking any information as to the location of Claude Verheit and his apprentice Derrich Filime. Concerns have been raised for their safety, and any assistance is greatly appreciated.